


Cmnd+Shift

by Catsitta



Series: Caramel Macchiatos [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Angst and Humor, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Coffee Shops, Cultural Misunderstandings, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Female Reader, Guilt, Non-Sexual Submission, POV Second Person, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader-Insert, Sexual Harassment, Shame, Soulmates, Swearing, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, is this flirting?, sans is an awkward goblin, submissive sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: You’re a fledgeling website designer with a nightmare client that is driving you to wits end. Sans is the asshole that gropes you in the middle of a coffee shop. Things don’t turn out as expected.Reader Insert | Female Reader | UF!Sans/Reader





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of my previous fic, Ctrl+Freak. Same reader and coffee shop, but staring a different Sans and a very different meeting.

“Hello Mr. Harrison, it’s me again, calling to remind you that I need your decision on the latest edits made by end of day so that development can begin on your website. Call when you have a moment, please and thank you.” 

With a barely restrained groan, you ended the call, half wondering which deity you cheesed off this week since this latest client was nothing but a nightmare. Hard to please, never focused and demanding in a shotgun blast sort of way that involved way too much arm waving and the utterance of ‘this but different’. At least you managed to talk him out of changing the copy in the header to comic sans of all things. He wasn’t so old as to be oblivious to the general populous’ disdain of the font, yet somehow, it became a point of discussion. Just thinking about it made you want another cup of coffee. Shutting your laptop, you ignored the three large paper cups already clustered at the corner of the table you’ve commandeered for the majority of the morning, and headed to the back of the line. It wasn’t unreasonable, but yes, you were going to have to wait. 

You felt eyes follow you as you zombie march along. Whatever. Your caffeine-crazed shenanigans were probably the highlight of some suburban soccer mom’s day. Ever since arriving, you’ve been chugging down overpriced soul juice and making phone calls, one hand plunking on the keys of your laptop, your whole body gaining a twitch as a single hour lapsed into two. Somebody probably wondered how long it would be until you threw the computer out the window while laughing like super villain, or possibly climbing out after it while screaming “I’m freeeee!” Or they were expecting you to cut a bitch, because if your expression matched the manic ire in your soul, then you looked primed to kill.

Coffee was the answer. Coffee was always the answer.

As you awaited your turn, you fiddled with your phone, re-reading emails and praying for Mr. Harrison to just call back before your meltdown goes nuclear. You’re three people away from placing a fourth order when the person behind you shifted a little close for comfort. No big deal. It’s a small shop. Lines in places like these are always cramped. Probably some overeager Bill or Cindy that needed a cuppa joe before they returned to work and thinks the closer they stand to the counter, the faster their drink will manifest into reality. Too bad it doesn’t work. You’ve tried. It’s a tragedy. Truely. You ignored them and cleared your spam folder. How many junk emails could a person get in one day? It was ridiculous…

There was now only two people ahead of you.

Great. You could taste the caramel macchiato already. Maybe after this next large cup you’d hear colors and start to ponder the complexities of the known universe. God knows you’ve consumed enough sugar that your dentist felt a disturbance in the force and has begun to plot your next filling. You pocketed your phone in your hoodie, palming your wallet in anticipation. You’re about to step forward again to say hello to your new best friend Mike, when something brushed your backside. Eh? The confusion on what was happening lasted all of two seconds before the touch became firm, utterly plastering to your left ass cheek. Oh hell no. Some dick was grabbing your ass and you were not going to just let that stand.

Maybe if they’d just touched and retreated, and maybe if you were less wired up than a rapid ferret, then maaaaaaybe you’d have let it pass. You weren’t confrontational by nature. It was how you got stuck with problem clients like Mr. Harrison who ignored your calls because you’d take it and he knew it, well aware you’d bend over backwards before you’d call him out on his bullshit. But this? Jack just got handsy with the wrong girl. You felt him give a squeeze and with a snarl, you whipped around, one hand flying out in an instant. 

CRACK!

“Frick!” That hurt. Slapping the bastard hurt. “Pervert.” You clutched your injured palm to your chest and glared at the offender, heart near leaping into your mouth when you saw who—what—you struck. Standing maybe an inch taller than you in sneakers was a skeleton, mouth of sharkish teeth etched into a permanent grin, a golden falsie wedged at the corner of his smile leading to a nasty crack that split bone open up to his left socket. Pinpricks of red danced in fathomless black, and the rest of him matched, his form swamped in an oversized jacket straight from a Hot Topic halloween sale, a spiked dog collar dangling loose around his neck. 

You just slapped a monster. A perverted skeleton monster. Not much was known about the species that emerged from the mountain two years back since they were relatively secretive and self-isolating. They made it clear they didn’t trust humans, and probably would have waged a war if not for their pitiful numbers. Because one thing was certain: Monsters were dangerous. Those that survived the Underground only did so through violence. And you just slapped one of them. Knowing that, if he had left Ebott City and had decided to fondle your backside, that he probably didn’t have any active animosity towards humans, was a small comfort. 

People started murmuring, the tension in the room spiking up. The skeleton’s eyelights shrank (as if frightened?) and he pulled up his hood. So that was why no one had reacted before now. In that jacket, his shoulders hunched, he looked like some edgy human teenager. Was...was he not going to retaliate? Or heck, apologize? He caught your stare, and his skull flushed crimson, his stare darting to the side. Nope. Didn’t look like it. He was caught and called out, and he was going to stand there and pretend to be invisible. 

Suddenly, you didn’t feel much like having another coffee. If your heart beat any faster it’d explode. So you narrowed your eyes at the skeleton one last time before marching off and returning to your table. Work. You had...work...The screen swam before your eyes. Urg. Your focus was shot. All that adrenaline wasn’t good for the system, and within a few minutes, you were trembling, caught in a wave of lethargy. You wanted to go home and sleep for a year.  
A shape passed through your peripherals and the chair across from yours creaked. 

You looked up and froze. Sitting there with a cup in either hand was the skeleton. He met your gaze only briefly before looking away, still red-faced, and set one of the cups next to your laptop, inching away as if you were a dangerous predator that’d bite the hand that dared try to feed it. It was a caramel macchiato with ‘Sans’ scribbled on the side. And was that a phone number added beneath it? The pair of you remained silent, you staring, him tapping the side of his drink with the tips of clawed phalanges.

Anxiety bloomed into another wave of irritated bravado, “As lovely as this talk has been, you should find another place to sit or, I don’t know, apologize?” You didn’t know much of anything about monster culture, but it wasn’t normal among humans to give over your number after you’d been called out for being a grabby pervert. Then again, him being human likely wouldn’t have made this situation any better. You kinda liked living, and bruisers generally didn’t enjoy getting publicly humiliated by uppity chicks they deigned show attention. The skeleton—Sans—doesn’t move, still fixed in his seat, though his eyelights do fasten onto your hands like he was expecting you to lash out physically.

Whelp, looked like you weren’t staying here this afternoon. You sighed and gathered your stuff, casting one last look at the skeleton still hunched at the table, an ache twisting in your chest that you can’t quite name. Guilt, maybe? Or pity? “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for slapping you. Not because you didn’t deserve it, but because I know you were probably weren’t expecting everyone to know you weren’t human.” And humans could be cruel. Very, very cruel. “I don’t usually go around hitting people. But you should really keep your hands to yourself unless invited.” With that, you left, laptop bag slung over your shoulder, the first flecks of snow drifting down to land on your clothes and hair. Great. Everyone would be driving like idiots now. You rummaged for your car keys and were halfway across the lot when a deep voice called out behind you.

“w-wait!”

You’re startled enough to pause and turn, eyes going wide when you spotted the edgy skeleton bolting in your direction. He had a cup in his hand and suddenly, he lurched, stepping on his undone shoelaces and face planting on the cement. The drink went flying, scattering its contents all over the ground, the cup skittering and rolling to your foot. It was the caramel macchiato he’d gotten for you, and you’d left behind untouched. 

“fuck! why me?” Sans began to swear more fervently as he picked himself up, rubbing his skull, a small crack splintering at the top of one of his sockets. How hard had he fallen? This was your cue to run like Death was literally at your heels and break several laws driving home to make sure he didn’t catch up. But the sight of him standing there, injured, looking halfway between miserable and irate, made that stupid feeling in your chest return. You clutched your keys tighter and absently picked up the cup. It was stained and sticky from coffee. 

“Why did you follow me?” you asked—demanded? No, the timidness in your voice was undeniable, your earlier bravery snuffed out like a candle in a windstorm. You held the cup up, almost defensively, like it could shield you should he be some crazy stalker out to shank you. Sans stopped rubbing his face and flicked his gaze from the cup, to your eyes to your chest. Oh, classy. Real classy. Even covered up in a sweater and a winter jacket, that computer bag strap made enough of an indentation between your breasts to entice the weirdos. His eyes darted back up and he began to sweat. That wasn’t something you wanted to ponder the how or why behind.

“l-look, m’not followin’ yer, well, i am, but not like yer think! i just wanted to, uh, apologize before i lost the chance. i s-shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. b-b-but yer were so c-close and yer smell so nice a-and w-wait. where yer goin’?” You had pivoted on your heel the moment he mentioned your scent, cursing your lack of pepper spray. You flinched when ran after you, and promptly lobbed the cup at his head, yelping when he not only avoided the projectile, but did so effortlessly before closing the distance between you both. “s-s-sorry!” That was your only warning before there was an audible PING and you felt a hundred times heavier, your knees ready to buckle. “shit. shit. shit. frisk will be pissed with me if they find out i…” He glanced around and made a placating gesture, picking up the cup and inching closer. “please don’t run. i know i keep fuckin’ this up, but i don’t...just...please? i’m gonna let yer go now.” The weight lifted. Was that magic? Monsters were said to use it for everything—cooking, communicating, fighting…

You gulped down a few lungfuls of air and upon spying his visible relief, you went to slap him again, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?” Before you struck, Sans winced, curling in on himself in a way that quenched your frightened fury and stilled your hand. What were you doing? A sick feeling lurched in your gut and you held your hand to your chest. Sans uncurled, those eyelights of his unfocused, hazy around the edges. 

“s-sorry boss. m’sorry. i used a little blue magic to stop yer from runnin’ off. it wuz wrong but yer not a monster, and i don’t know how to explain m’self wit’out yer spookin’.” You inched backwards. “fuck. i’m a fuck up.” He has the audacity to grab your wrist and shove the cup into your hand before backing off. “l-look, i know i didn’t make the best first impression, but if you’d let me i’d like to start over. my name’s sans, sans the skeleton. and yer my soulmate.”

The cup bounced off his smile.

And you ran.

“wait!”

Either he couldn't do anything about you driving away, or he chose not to, because you slammed your car door shut and left him standing in the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

"Marry me, Mike, oh love of my life, grand master of mochas and espresso.”

The barista rolled his eyes and chuckled at your antics, handing over the freshly brewed drink. “I’m afraid the blender has my heart and soul. Deepest apologies.” You snorted and made your way to your usual table. It was a slow day at the coffee shop, which meant the poor guy was handling everything from the register to the counter. Heaven help him come a rush. You’re glad you returned. Weird encounter aside, this was still your favorite place to get a fix, and today was a celebrating day. No more Mr. Harrison! You’d finally completed that project and were free. Time to let the poor developers handle the backend. 

You sipped your poison of choice with a throaty groan and began flipping through apps on your phone. Checking social media consumed your attention within a couple minutes, because one of your favorite vloggers adopted a new cat and shared a bunch of videos. What kind of heartless beast would you be if you didn’t watch every one of them? Halfway through your drink (and a video of King Fluffy Bunz trying to climb DETERMINATION’s leg), Mike appeared at your side, laying an unordered cup on the table, startlingly close. You’re about to ask what he was doing, when he leans in and says in a hushed voice, “It’s the skeleton. He’s been hanging around the parking lot lately...this is the first time he’s come in since you were here last. I can’t really do much but...if you need me to walk you to your car.” 

He moved back behind the counter, gaze apologetic. Such a nice man...no wonder he had a ring on his finger. You shook your head, unwilling to be scared off because of some delusional pervert. Monsters might be dangerous on the whole, but this one was plenty of a threat to himself. Moron couldn’t tie his own shoes well-enough to keep from tasting asphalt. With a sniff, you return to your video, peeking out the corner of your eye...just in case. It wasn’t long before Mr. I-am-your-soulmate-so-that-excuses-my-grabby-hands sat down across from you, hood up, the new crack on his skull a little smaller and pinked around the edges.

“yer came back.” Yeah, ignore him. He’d get the hint and leave. Hm. DETERMINATION posted about pet sitting for a family friend next week, and was asking for advice on how to help two felines get along in one house. Apparently Doomfanger (what was with these names?) was a crotchety old man currently twice King’s size. You scroll through the comments. “h-hey, look, i didn’t mean to drop the heavy shit on yer like that, but it just sorta...came out? never thought i have a soulmate, much less think they’d be human. c’mon, talk to me, please.” Was that a picture of Doomfanger? Yikes, that was one ugly cat. One ugly, well-fed and well-groomed cat. His teeth were snaggled, he was missing an eye and his ears were in shreds, but boy did that fur gleam. And was that a spiked collar with a skull on the tags? Somebody loved their ugly fur baby. You liked the posts and then started swiping idly through a friend’s vacation photos. Look at those beautiful beaches.

“what do i got to do to make yer believe me? or just talk?” Hm, your cup was almost empty. Time to leave. With a final gulp, you polished off the coffee and stood, chucking the cup out as you strolled through the door. “n-no. not again. please. wait up!” If he grabbed you with magic again…You looked over your shoulder, paranoid, only to find him gone. What the—? “one more chance. just one more chance.” You shrieked, flailing defensively when Sans appeared in front of you. How did he get ahead when he was trailing behind? “sweetheart—”

Nope. Nada. Not doing this. 

You whipped your hand up, pepper spray now linked to your keychain because of this very fear. Sans back peddled, sweating, eyelights flicking between the canister held threateningly at his face, and your scowl. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you don’t stop I will call the cops. Now, get out of my way before you regret it.” Did pepper spray work on monsters? Shoot. You really should have done some better research on the differences between humans and monsters. His eyelights shrank into tiny, quivering dots. You took a step forward and he copied. “I said, MOVE.”

His skull flushed scarlet. 

What. the. Hell?

“n-no.” He averted his gaze. “if i move, i may never get a chance to talk to yer again.”

“If you keep standing there, I’m going to spray you and then run you over with my car.” A nasty bluff, but your building ire left you in a venom spitting mood. If ignoring him wouldn’t work, then maybe you could intimidate him. Hell, maybe this was a cultural misunderstanding and the only way monsters took no for an answer was if it was accompanied by a death threats. Or—that crimson flush deepened and he appeared to be sweating more—death threats meant the opposite to them because that didn’t look like he was deterred one bit. “Well?”

“...m-make me.” He didn’t move. He just stood there, hands clenched around his hood, sockets scrunched shut. And for some reason, the thought of assaulting the dumbass sat heavy in your gut, causing your hand to drop. Why did he have to look like a beaten puppy waiting to be kicked? 

“You’re pathetic, you know that, right?” He popped open a socket at your hesitation, and had the gall to nod. “Look, I’m not sure if this is how monsters do things, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a human. Sexually harassing and then stalking someone isn’t cute. I don’t care if you think we’re soulmates, or something, you don’t have a right to my time or my body. Got it? Now move.”

You went to step around him, but he shifted, once more blocking your path, looking even twitchier than before. “yer right. yer not a monster,” he murmured. “if yer were, yer’d understand why i can’t just walk away.” The air thickened, sharp and bitter with ozone as if amidst a thunderstorm. “yer would feel what i feel.” The crazy alarm decided now was a good time to start blaring like a tornado siren. Abort! Abort! Take shelter. You rocked backward, ready to bolt. Then he started to laugh, a manic, miserable sound, “m’not gonna hurt’cha. not ever. what do yer want from me to prove that? just tell me so yer stop runnin’ away! do yer want me on my knees to beg like a dog? ” He staggered closer, and you shrank back, eliciting another bark of laughter. 

The animalistic part of your brain warned that this monster was dangerous. A threat in more ways than one. He already proved once he could freeze you in place on a whim. An ability that no doubt made it easy to slaughter his foes in the Underground. Yikes. You remembered why you were so terrified when you slapped him in the first place. And then your stupid mouth had to go and open again, “Bad dog. Sit.” The expression on his face was...indescribable. Like you’d just licked his nose (bone?) in place of a handshake hello, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. The charge to the air remained, but he returned to looking nervous, and maybe, pitifully, a little hopeful. “Well? You asked if I wanted you to beg forgiveness. Now sit!” And just like that, he dropped, knees buckling, those little lights in his sockets full and fuzzy, his skull a deep shade of crimson. A small, twisted piece of you thrilled at the sight, the feeling of power. Here was the asshole that groped you in public, kneeling in the middle of a dirty parking lot at your feet. But just as swift as it came, you banished it. You were not going there. He was a creep and pervert and could kill you. It was important to remember that fact.

“sweetheart—”

“Did I say you could speak? And don’t you dare call me sweetheart.”

“s-sorry, b-boss.” This had to be humiliating for him. Utterly demeaning. Yet he wasn’t saying screw it and storming off. You glanced over your shoulder, spotting Mike by the window, watching the exchange, likely concerned and ready to call the cops if this went south. “p-please, c-can i speak?”

“You have one minute.” Good grief, his eyelights were hearts. Why were his eyelights hearts?

“i’m sorry that i grabbed you when we met. i…monsters souls are sensitive to others souls, whether monster or human, it’s like...empathy? but wit magic. humans are fleshy and can’t hear ‘em or feel ‘em the same, ‘cept on occasion. yer call it gut feelin’, i think. i’m...i’m very...aware of souls. more so than most monsters. and yers...yers just sings to mine. it sings so loud that i can’t even hear m’self think. and i knew just seein’ yer in line what yer wuz to me. it’s so rare to find someone else who’s soulsong is harmonious with yers. and then i realized how nice you smelled and wondered if yer wuz as soft as yer looked, and then yer slapped me and i realized what happened. look, i can be a numbskull, but i would give yer the world if yer let me. if yer wuz a monster, yer’d feel like i feel, and nobody would blink if we bonded and had a couple brats becuz they’d be able to hear what our souls sound like together. please, just...just gimmie a chance to prove m’self. show yer i can protect yer and make yer happy.”

You blinked, half amazed that he didn’t stutter through that speech, and still 100% weirded out. The eager, hopeful, relieved way he stared up at you once more made a twisting sensation in your chest. Absently, you rubbed your sternum, noting how Sans fixed his stare there. Souls. Wait...did that meant he wasn’t staring at your chest the other day, but your soul? Was that worse or better? Souls sounded terribly intimate and monster could just, what, see them? Hear them? You stepped backward again, and Sans’ expression fell, like you just ripped out his nonexistent guts.

“Minute over.”

The smart thing would be to get in your car and never return to this coffee shop. Leave him kneeling on asphalt with nothing but a solid rejection in response to his declaration. Your fingers curled, white-knuckled around the fabric of your coat. Something told you that if you left now, Sans would take the hint and you’d never see his skull again. You could move on with life, and he could become a strange memory. But once more, that ugly part of you whispered how he was almost lovely in his subjugation, bringing up an image of him bringing you coffee at the snap of your fingers, the picture of a harried intern rushing to meet his manager’s demands, clothes a little rumpled, sweat beading down his skull, melting at any given grain of approval…

What the fuck was wrong with you!

Lost in your sudden panic, you didn’t notice Sans standing up, and pulling out a cup from his pocket. He flinched when your stare hit him, but he extended the empty offering, his name and phone number emblazoned on the side. A little smudged but still legible. 

He’s silent as you accepted the offering, and then he flashed a cocky smile that had to be fake, “when yer decide to be honest wit yerself, call me.”

Asshole.

Then he sighed and turned his back to you.

Why did that strike you as...strange?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this story will be over when it wants to be over. Which isn't now.


	3. Chapter 3

You didn't call him. 

Instead you went about your life like normal, stubbornly refusing to abandon routine because of your encounter with Sans, and glad you did it. Because you didn’t see even a hint of that shiny gold tooth or ratty jacket during your next couple visits. He must have moved on, you decided, still a hint leery, and a smidge (don’t you dare say disappointed) puzzled. For a monster that went on and on about soulmates, he gave up pretty quick when you didn’t drink up his bullshit. 

With a wave to Mike, you picked up your coffee and slung your laptop bag onto a table. Hopefully this new client emailed you back with more information about the job. Addicted as you were to your daily joe, you needed to fuel the machine with green lest life lost all meaning. Of course it was cheaper to make it at home (and you did more often than not), but there was a certain ambiance to the shop, and in a way, you felt so much more productive here than in your tiny apartment. You’d pay for more legroom but student loans! They had you in a noose. But who wasn’t choking on debt these days?

The bell above the door jingled, and absently, you glanced up, not yet consumed by work. And your stomach promptly dropped to the floor and tried to dig its way to China. There, strolling in like he not only owned the place but the whole damn block, was the tallest person you’d ever seen in your life. Tall enough he had to duck through the door! And to make him even more conspicuous was the glaring fact that he was a monster. A skeleton monster. Except where Sans was short and compact, this one was a brick wall that had a baby with a tower. Broad shoulders, angular skull, and scars everywhere. He was fifty percent confidence and one-hundred percent spite...clad in a somewhat questionable outfit. Heeled boots with matching gloves, leather pants and a studded skull belt fit the terrifying image he cut, but the sleeveless cropped jacket was...an interesting choice, especially with the tiny gold spikes on the shoulders. And did his shirt say ‘Cool Dude’ on it? You’re pretty sure that wasn’t printed on either. He would have had to have written that on in sharpie himself. What was perhaps oddest, however, was the faded, tattered scarf tucked neatly around his neck, looking battered compared to the rest of his otherwise pristine attire.

You stared.

Could you blame a girl?

He strutted across the room, slipping off sunglasses in a fluid flick of the wrist, and made his way to the counter. Mike was whiter than a vanilla frappuccino with extra whip, which was impressive considering his complexion typically ran closer to chai latte, but he remained at his station, smile manic. He looked ready to grab his beloved blender and run. 

“I WOULD LIKE A LARGE GREEN TEA, EXTRA HOT!” Holy hell, volume control, this guy needed to learn some. “MY NAME? THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS. NYEH.” Mike nodded and scribbled on the side of the cup, hurrying off to make the drink. The skeleton, Papyrus, huffed and propped one hand on the exposed crest of his pelvis. Where Sans was bundled up in layers, Papyrus flaunted his physique, his battered humeri and the lower half of his spine exposed to the winter air. Maybe the cold went right through him? Heh. The towering monster loomed, because there was no other word for his hovering, like he didn’t trust Mike to put hot water and a teabag in a cup without the world ending. He tapped a booted toe. It wasn’t long before the barista called out the full moniker he was given, adjectives included. Papyrus sniffed and accepted the cup, taking a sip, and giving a sharp nod of acceptance. 

He then pivoted, and you fully expected him to stroll right out, his objective complete. 

But no.

You apparently had a sign on your forehead that said “welcome all visitors” because he pulled out the chair across from yours and sat in it. With no invitation. Not even a hello or a wave. “Uh…” Well that was the peak of charisma right there.

“HUMAN! IF I AM NOT MISTAKEN, AND I AM NEVER MISTAKEN, YOU HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF ENCOUNTERING MY BROTHER AT THIS ESTABLISHMENT.”

“Brother?” You blink at him, trying to find any similarities between the two skeletons beyond their species and the color of their eyelights. Did terrible fashion sense count? “You’re related Sans? But you’re so...tall.” And loud. Compared to Papyrus, Sans spoke in a mumble. Papyrus tilted his chin up, as if basking in a compliment.

“I KNOW. DO NOT FEAR HUMAN, I DO NOT MIND IF YOU ADMIRE MY HANDSOME SELF, I AM, AFTER ALL, A PRIME EXAMPLE OF MONSTERDOM.” Despite the cockiness of that statement, you were quick to believe him. He looked like he could lift a car over his head and ate nails for breakfast...and his presence was...stifling. Like you were a mouse trapped in a cage with a well-fed hawk, uncertain if you’d be devoured out of amusement. He scoffed, “WHILE IT IS GOOD TO KNOW YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR SUPERIORS, YOUR COWERING WILL NOT BE CONDUCIVE TO HAVING A PROPER CONVERSATION.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed and irritation overwhelmed that instinct to make yourself small, “Hey, rude! I’m not going to sit and listen to you if you’re just going to be an asshole.” The way those eyelights pinned you made something in your chest twist and you froze. He wouldn’t attack you in the middle of the shop would he?

Papyrus cocked his skull and the corners of his mouth twisted up into an eerie, skeleton smile, “AH, NOW I SEE WHAT IS GOING ON. TELL ME HUMAN, HOW IS IT THAT YOU AND MY BROTHER CAME TO KNOW EACH OTHER?” 

You gripped your coffee, “Did he not tell you? Because I’m not surprised. He grabbed my ass while I was waiting in line and then I—” You faltered, uncertain if there was some monster version of chivalry that would demand Papyrus defend his brother’s honor. “—then I slapped him. After that he started following me around, talking about weird stuff like soulmates. Stalking isn’t cute, by the way, I’m glad he’s seemed to stop after the last incident.”

At that, Papyrus began to chuckle, the sound deep and dark. Were there any movies looking to cast a super villain because that laugh fit the bill. “OH, HE TOLD ME HIS VERSION OF EVENTS, BUT IT WOULD BE A DISSERVICE TO YOU TO NOT LEARN THE OTHER HALF OF THE STORY. I AM NOTHING IF NOT THOROUGH.”

“You’re not angry at me for hitting your brother?”

“NO. WHY WOULD I BE ANGRY AT MY BROTHER’S MATE FOR ESTABLISHING HER EXPECTATIONS FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP?”

Hold up. Rewind. “What?” You throttled the cup, “I’m not his mate. There is no relationship. Am I missing something? Is this a monster thing?” 

Papyrus sipped his tea, still looking amused, “YES. I AM ASSUMING THE WHELP DIDN’T EXPLAIN COURTSHIP RITUALS AT ALL IF YOU ARE THIS BAFFLED BY THE OBVIOUS. NOT SURPRISED. IN SHORT, FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE EVERYTHING TO MONSTERS. WE KNOW WITHIN A SINGLE ENCOUNTER WHETHER ANOTHER IS FRIEND, FOE OR POTENTIAL MATE. SANS SHOWED HIS INTEREST AND YOU ESTABLISHED YOUR EXPECTATIONS OF HIM. IT IS VERY SIMPLE.”

“Expectations? I slapped him! I called him a pervert and…” Your voice trailed off as you considered his behavior afterwards. His willingness to drop to his knees when you told him to beg. Were you accidentally playing into some weird courtship game? “Er, how does your brother normally act, if I may ask?”

“HE IS NOT A WEAK OR TIMID MONSTER, IF THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE ASKING, HUMAN.”

“...If he wanted could he—?”

“KILL YOU? OVERPOWER YOU? YES.” He said it so plainly. You felt faint.

“And I slapped him…”

“STILL ON ABOUT THAT? YOU ARE HIS SOULMATE, HIS OBJECTIVE IS TO PLEASE YOU, NOT HARM YOU. YOUR DESIRES ARE ULTIMATELY COMPATIBLE. IF WHAT YOUR SOUL REQUIRED WAS A DISPLAY OF POWER, HE COULD HAVE EASILY OVERCOME YOUR PUNY HUMAN DEFENSES. BUT SINCE YOU DON’T SEEM THE TYPE TO TAKE WELL TO BEING KIDNAPPED AND LOCKED IN A CLOSET…”

“Are you trying to be comforting, because you’re failing miserably.”

“I AM NOT ATTEMPTING TO DO ANYTHING EXCEPT EXPLAIN WHAT SHOULD BEEN EXPLAINED TO YOU FROM THE START. AS SOON AS I FOUND OUT THE MESS MY BROTHER DUG HIMSELF INTO, I KNEW I HAD TO STEP IN. THAT SAID, WHAT YOU DO WITH THIS INFORMATION IS ULTIMATELY UP TO YOU.” He pulled a phone from somewhere (because it couldn’t have been a pocket, those pants were painted on) and began tapping on the screen in the nonchalant manner a friend might during a casual conversation. “MY ONLY WARNING IS THAT WITHOUT A DIRECT REJECTION, SANS WILL ASSUME ADVANCES REMAIN WELCOME.”

“I threw a cup in his face and threatened to run him over with my car,” you deadpanned. “What qualifies as a rejection?”

Papyrus glanced up with a snort, “YOU THREATENED HIM AND HAVE YET TO DO SERIOUS HARM. A DISINTERESTED MONSTER WOULD HAVE TRIED TO DUST HIM FOR HIS AUDACITY BY NOW.”

“Uhh...You’re serious?”

“I’M NEVER ANYTHING LESS,” Papyrus cocked a browbone. “TELL ME HUMAN, DO YOU WISH MY BROTHER DEAD?”

“No!” Sans was a creepy weirdo that made your stomach do funny things with that stammer of his, but you didn’t actually want the asshole dead. 

Papyrus drummed his claws on the tabletop, “THEN YOU HAVE ACCEPTED YOUR INEVITABLE MATESHIP?”

“Why are the only options here him being dead, or me being stuck in a relationship with him?”

“BECAUSE THAT IS HOW SOULMATES WORK! YOU ARE EITHER BEING TERRIBLY OBTUSE, OR ARE UNFORTUNATELY THICK IN THE HEAD.” You found yourself glaring, and very tempted to pelt the scary murder skeleton with your mostly full drink. It would be a very satisfactory five seconds of life before he ripped your head off. Papyrus thrust out a palm, “I HAVE PLACES TO BE TODAY, AND DEMAND THAT YOU ALLOW ME TO PUT MY NUMBER IN YOUR PHONE. I WILL BE IN TOWN FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK. HOPEFULLY YOU WILL COME TO YOUR SENSES AND BE RECEPTIVE TO MY ADVICE BEFORE I LEAVE.”

Maybe you were a little ill in the head because you did as he commanded.

After a moment, he looked up and narrowed his sockets at you, “ON SECOND THOUGHT, IT WOULD BE UNWISE OF ME TO ALLOW YOU TO GO ABOUT UNINFORMED DUE TO PRIDE. FRIDAY AT SIX, MEET ME AT THE RESTAURANT ACROSS THE STREET.”

“...The Micky D’s or the Steakhouse, because I can only afford the former.” And where does he get off on ordering you around like that? “Also, how about no, and you give my phone back, now. At least your brother never ordered me on a date with him.” Papyrus wriggled your phone in one hand, as if to mock your request. Okay, that’s it. You’ve been stumbling about, compliant out of shock from the whole situation, but he was stepping on your boundaries big time. And didn’t he say that monsters expressed rejection pretty violently? 

You narrowed your eyes at him and lunged over the table, grabbing that scarf at his throat and yanking his skull down to be eye level with you, “Give. It. Back. Or. Else.”

Papyrus smirked and easily freed himself like you were a small child clinging to the side of a bucking bronco, “I SEE. YOU ACTUALLY MIGHT HAVE A CHANCE OF MAKING SOMETHING OF THAT USELESS WHELP I CALL BROTHER.” He laid the cellphone down and slid it across to you, “SIX SHARP, FRIDAY, AT THE STEAKHOUSE. I WILL SEE YOU THEN.” And with that, he was off, leaving you to breathlessly melt into your seat. You remained a puddle for at least fifteen minutes before regaining enough sense of self to try cognitive thought. That was...an experience. 

And unlike Sans, you had a hard time picturing that domineering skeleton on his knees begging anyone for anything. 

Speaking of whom...was that a certain someone peeking through the window like a creep? He caught your eye and ducked into his fluffy hood, before overcoming his hesitation and coming inside. “are yer okay? he didn’t hurt yer or nuthin’ did he?” 

“I’m fine, Sans. Unlike a certain someone, he didn’t grab my butt before he talked to me for the first time, then he was gentlemanly enough to ask me out to eat.” A bit of a stretch, but you weren’t about to admit your terror to him. “Now shoo. I don’t need two brothers ruining my afternoon.”

Sans didn’t move.

He stood there, stone still, eyesockets dark, “he what?”

“Asked me out to eat?”

“like a date?”

No. But you didn’t like the look on his face, and narrowed your eyes, “Yes. Don’t see how that’s an issue since we’re not together.”

“yer my—”

“—nothing. You are my nothing. Now excuse me, I think I should go.” You picked up your bag and made to go around him, heart pounding, still leery. It wasn’t long before you were outside and footsteps pounded behind you. Not this again. You spun and halted Sans with a glare, “I’m going to upfront. You don’t control me. You don’t own me. I can see who I want, when I want, where I want. Capiche?”

Sans grabbed his hood and seemed to fight with himself, phalanges twisted in the fluff, then he exploded, hood flying back, sockets bright with blazing eyelights, “yer stupid bitch! yer gonna get one us fuckin’ killed!”

“The fuck you just call me?”

His sharkish grin seemed to widen, “bitch. yer gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it?”

Papyrus’ words echoed in your head, reminding you that he wasn’t human, had you wondering if this was some ass backwards ploy to gain ‘dominance’ in your rather rocky relationship. This whole soulmate thing was looking more and more like bs, because you weren’t about to drop your panties over some jackass that couldn’t take a hint and was now calling you names. Your hand tightened meaningfully around the cup of barely sampled joe and you locked your gaze with Sans’, walking slowly towards him. His eyelights quivered. As your shadow fell upon him, sweat beaded on his skull, and he seemed to shrink. You peeled open the cup, giving the moron plenty of time to run, and then dumped the contents over his head. 

You didn’t have anything else to say.

You just turned and left him standing there, soaked with coffee.

It would be so easy to just hate him. 

So why did that stupid image of him as an intern return? Sitting at your feet, clothes ruined, shivering, because he got your order wrong and then had the audacity to backtalk. He was such a mouthy brat until somebody put him in his place…

You choked, willing away the tingles that jittered through your traitorous body. This was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He was a creepy weirdo that brought out the worst in you. Made you angry and spiteful and what kind of person thrilled at another’s humiliation. Deserved or not...Tears pricked in your eyes uninvited. You hated him. Hated him. Hated him!

You hated…

You hated yourself.

You forgot where you were, the fact that you weren’t at home but standing beside your car, tears blinding you. You wanted to hurt something. Break a dish. Kick a tire. Scream! 

“boss…?” He was there. Behind you.

“Go away.”

A pause, then a muttered curse, “fuck, i wuz worried ‘bout this happenin’.

“I said go away!” You whirled to find Sans far too close for comfort. He looked...sad. You stomach twisted, and the small child inside you started wailing. “Did you do something to me? Is that why I feel like this?”

Sans shifted, “not exactly, sweetheart.” He tapped his sternum with two phalange, “w-we really need to talk. yer and me, soul-to-soul, or heart-to-heart, or whatever. cuz i wuzn’t kiddin’ when i said yer gonna get one of us killed, and tiba-honest, i don’t like that outcome. so could yer trust me, fer once, fer just a little while…?”

And that was when he held out a hand for you to take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you take his hand?
> 
> [YES] or [NO]
> 
> There are a couple directions to take this fic, and I honestly want to know if my readers would like to see this fic maintain a cheeky teen rating for suggestive themes and naughty humor, or if we wish to explore more into M-rated territory? 
> 
> Also, I am working on a third installment to this series. Anyone game for some Mobtale? [Check out a snippet here.](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/post/185297345812/a-selection-of-previews) Click [here](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/post/185414901367/cool-dude-so-i-may-be-planning-a-cameo-of-a) if you wanna see my doodle of Papyrus from this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t trust you.”

Sans visibly wilted, shoulders dropping, eyelights shrinking into barely-there pinpricks that danced like fireflies in a shaken jar. His hand quivered, falling just a hair, still left aloft as if dangling by a shred of flimsy hope, a puppet whose strings were all cut save one, ready to collapse. You grimaced and pulled your gloves from you coat pocket. You’d forgotten to put them on in your haste to leave the shop, but the cold was quick to remind you with pinked fingertips. And now they’d serve a dual purpose. Yanking them on with more force than required, you watched Sans shuffle back a step, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as if he had lungs to fill with breath. If he were human you’d say he was panicking. Just as his extended arm went to fall loose at his side, you grabbed him at the wrist, right where bone emerged from the sleeve of his coat.

He stilled and looked at you, then at your hold.

“Also, you’re a sticky mess and I have standards.” It was pretty obvious that he used his hands and sleeves to wipe the worst of the coffee off his head. His wrist was only marginally better in terms of cleanliness, but at least this way you might be able to salvage your gloves instead of losing them to the trash can gods. “What? You just going to stand there and stare, because—”

“n-n-no!” Sans lurched forward, the distance between your bodies little more than a breath. Too close. Waaaaay too close. “whatever yer do, don’t leggo.” He doesn’t give you a chance to even blink before the world turned upside down. 

 

“The fuck just happened!”

You shoved away from Sans, one arm wrapped about your stomach, the urge to upchuck strong. Now if only the floor would stop moving. Back and forth. Back and forth. Urg. Like you were on a boat. You didn’t like boats. Last time you were on one you were twelve and spent the whole time seasick, and right now you were having flashbacks. 

“shit, shit, shit. i didn’t think you’d react that b-badly, bein’ my soulmate an’ all. bos—my bro get like this too. jus’ breathe, and uh, i’ll get yer a cup of water. yer brain an’, uh...whatzzit, yer inner ear? yeah, think that’s it...is havin’ a hard time reorienting yer after being shifted around so far in such a short amount of time.” Your legs buckled and you started to cough, your suffering almost drowning out the sound of Sans’ footsteps as he hurried away and back. Just as you’re able to will your eyes open, a glass is shoved in your face. “iz okay. yer okay.”

The glass is half empty before you regain enough sensibility to wonder if the water's somehow drugged. "Whatever that was, don't do it again." You uncurled enough to peek at him through tear-damp eyes. It was dark in this place. "Now, where are we?"

Sans made a non-committal noise and suddenly, lights flickered on. A room. Given the bare mattress in the corner and the closet door struggling to stay on its hinges, it was safe to say you were in a bedroom. One that was empty of all personal touches outside of a few distinct stains on the carpet that looked suspiciously of dried blood and cracks in the drywall.all. Papyrus’ remark about kidnapping became a blaring tornado siren. He has the good grace to flinch when you whirled to confront him, bravado once more masking the icy chill of fear. “Take me back. Now. If I had known you could teleport or whatever that was, I would have never—”

“i can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You’re close enough to throttle the idiot, with every step you attempted to close the distance, he inched back. It’s a slow, fruitless dance until his back hit the wall. “Can’t. Or. Won’t? Answer me, Sans. Because if it’s a joke, it isn’t funny.” He could kill you. He proved how easily he could secret you away. Just a touch and a little magic. Was this plan all along? Had Papyrus been in on it? At your height and weight, you’ve never intimidated a person in your life. There were middle schoolers bigger than you. But like a terrified kitten, you had your proverbial fur fluffed, teeth bared and ears laid flat. When he didn’t speak up, mute as you loomed ineffectively, you pushed away from the wall and went for your phone, abandoning the half-empty glass on the floor. A quick dial for Emergency led to you nearly dropping the device in horror. Dead noise. No service to be found.

“sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that. You have no right,” your voice was dull, void of emotion as you struggled to keep from becoming a screaming maniac. This was bad. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know how this situation went if you let it get too far. You had no plans of begging, not with what you now know of monster culture, but indeed, there was a fine line you’d need to tread to hopefully get out alive. You pocketed the phone, your back to Sans, “You will tell me where we are and why my cell isn’t working. But first, is there a bathroom? I need to wash my hands.”

Your gloved hands.

Sans shuffled to stand in your line of vision, “y-yeah. there’s a bathroom. don’t got any hot water right now but…” He almost eagerly led you out of the room and down a stretch of narrow landing. It was dark. Only the faintest trace of light peeking through boarded downstairs windows. Strange house design. You brushed a hand over the flimsy wooden barrier that kept one from accidentally tumbling down to the floor below. Sans opened a door and slowly, a bare bulb clicked on, flickering and stuttering like an aged man’s death rattle. He watched as you stripped the gloves and rinsed your palms in the sink, scrubbing at imagined stickiness, the chill of the water calming. Through the corner of your eye you take in the small room, its cracked tile walls and curtainless, clawed-foot shower-tub. There were thin, off-white hand towels hanging from a dull loop bolted to the wall behind the sink, and at one time, a mirror must have been mounted there, but had been since removed, only the holes that once anchored it remaining. 

You gripped the edge of the sink and stared at damp ceramic, “Well...where are we?”

“...underground.”

“As in The Underground?”

“yep.”

“Why?” The question was punctuated by the steady tap of fingernails, each little clink like a shattered dish in the tiny, silent box. You’re glad there is no reflection to see beyond a warped blur offered by the tarnished metal spout. 

Sans shuffled his feet, “good place to talk. private. quiet. almost nobody down here no more, since the ones too weak or crazy to go above p’much dusted within’ a year of the barrier breaking. anyone down here now aint gonna bother wit us, since fightin’ aint needed to survive when there isn’t anything to fight over or anyone to fight.”

“I see, and what made you think that I wanted to be someone quiet and private with you?” You laid your stare on him, leaning heavy on that last word. He looked small and pitiful but not exactly repentant. “Now why can’t you take us back to where we were?”

“m’tired. takes a lotta magic to shortcut another being, even more to come this far. and i c-can’t make that jump again right now,” Sans gave a nonchalant shrug that pissed you off. “as fer yer other question...fraid that was a personal choice. i couldn’t have yer runnin’ off or causin’ a ruckus if i wuz gonna have half a conversation wit yer.”

“...First you grabbed my ass. Then stalked me. And now you’ve kidnapped me. I’m not exactly in the mood to talk anymore.”  
Sans visibly bristled, like you’d finally gotten under his proverbial skin once more. His little eyelights became narrow disks, browbones slanting heavy over those ovoid sockets, “fine, don’t talk, yer can listen, cuz dustin’ aint exactly my idea of a good time.” He stepped into the bathroom, and you held your ground, refusing to back away as he closed the distance. Not like there was anywhere to go even if you wanted to run. “yer my soulmate, like it or not, and that means the fuckin’ world to a monster. we are our souls. and once we find a soulmate, bondin’ usually happens soon after, and it aint always a concious thing.” He fixed his gaze on your chest, phalanges lifting as if you touch something unseen. “and here yer are, ignorant to the implications, sayin’ yer gonna go on a date wit my brother.”

“So you’re jealous?”

He scoffed and actually laughed, “pfft. naw. yer not his type. and even if yer were, as long as it was just fuckin’, couldn’t say i’d give a damn.” Your brain stuttered enough that you stumbled back in surprise. Shutdown. Reboot. What? Sans snickered, his grin a sharp, dangerous thing. 

 

You found yourself shaking your head ever-so-slightly, “But back at the coffee shop...when I mentioned it was like a date you…?”

“see, it aint jealousy that is makin’ me worry ‘bout yer skin. it’s yer lack of self-preservation. my brother is a cool dude. really, the best damn monster in the underground. he’s my only family and i raised him from a babybones into one of the strongest monsters around. but he was the vice captain of the royal guard, sweetheart, and he knows how to dispose of a body. if he thought fer one second yer were gonna reject me and our bond, he’d kill ya, because he don’t care about yer, and a bad soulbond is enough to dust most monsters, though i can’t say for certain what it’d do to a human. we don’t have a bond yet, so yer dying wouldn’t kill me...but in his head, it could keep me from dustin’. can yer see why i might not want yer around him while we’re still figuring this out?”

“That’s fucked,” you didn’t want to believe him. “You are telling me that we either, what...date? Or one of us dies? Or both of us? I don’t believe you.” It had to be some elaborate manipulation that the brothers were both in on. “Call me a stupid bitch or whatever, but this is not acceptable! I’m not going to manipulated or threatened into an abusive relationship with a near stranger!”

“...abusive…?” Sans flinched back, like you’d slapped him again.

You curled a bit in on yourself, moving slowly until the back of your knees pressed against the lip of the tub, “You can’t tell me that what we have right now is healthy, Sans. Maybe monster relationships are different, but I don’t trust you, and…” You didn’t trust yourself. It was all too satisfying to humiliate him and the urge to make him suffer was strong. Already a part of your was thrashing viciously at the prospect of being trapped in a relationship by Sans, and how you’d make him cry. And that...that wasn’t you. It couldn’t be you. Your fleeting relationships in the past were flimsy, bubblegum dreams generally popped by boredom. None ended badly. They just ended. No screaming or arguing or crying. Just two people wandering apart because you were never meant to fit.

You couldn’t picture that with Sans.

No, the future you saw was him mouthing off and you shoving him against a wall and—yikes. Just yikes. Mama didn’t raise a fool. You could think with more than your ovaries. You weren’t sure why your ovaries were interested, but you thoroughly blamed ovulation for even having that thought.

“it’s cuz of our souls, y’know,” Sans murmured. “the way yer and me are feelin’. i know souls are a vague concept to humans since yer can’t see’em without bein’ in an encounter wit a monster, but it recognizes me as yer other half and it wants to be wit mine. brings out lotsa feelings, not makin’ a bond. anger. aggression. frustration. desperation. helplessness. especially when yer stifle yer true self. yer in denial ‘bout somethin’ and it’s makin’ the both of us a lil erratic, becuz yer soul is...intense...and loud about it.”

Denial, huh? He makes it seem like it’s all simple. Like just giving into these weird urges twisting in your chest would change your mind about this whole fiasco. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Sans tilted his skull. “Look, your brother mentioned something about first impressions and establishing roles in a relationship, but this isn’t...what I feel isn’t...Arg! What I want to do to you isn’t normal! It isn’t ME!”

His eyelights went wide and fuzzy at your raised voice, “heh. yer soul is better at listenin’ and communicatin’ yer wants than yer brain, sweetheart. how ‘bout we make a deal? fer the next couple hours, until i can get enough energy to get us back to the surface, do what’cher want, not what yer think yer should want. If yer wanna never see me again after, then i’ll leave yer alone and keep my brother from hasslin’ yer. if yer wanna hold onto yer hangups, then i might just forget howta get back above fer a while.” He winked. “safe word is blue. like a blue stop sign.” Sans smirked at your baffled expression. “so boss, it’s yer call, we gotta deal?”

“I can’t tell if this is blackmail or not.”

“all’s fair in love and war.”

“You’re crazy.”

“tell me sumthin’ new.”

“You’re a jackass.”

“awe, how sweet, pet names already?”

You felt that weight in your chest skip and for some bizarre reason you find yourself intrigued by the idea. Tempted. It was idiotic. Warped. Twisted. Questionable to the highest degree. “Of course, you’ve already got on a collar, might as well name the dog that’s yapping at me.” Sans inhaled sharply, understanding the implications. “You’ve got a deal, p-pet.” You cleared your throat, this was both exhilarating and terribly awkward. What were you doing? He was going to laugh in your face. 

Sans didn’t laugh, however, merely nodded, his sockets narrowing, his expression calculating, “so what now, boss?” His tone was thick with a heady note that made you shiver. 

“Now...now you...you take off that coat.”

“oh?” He looked pleasantly surprised. Sans started to shrug it off. 

“Yes, it’s disgusting. In fact, you’re a mess. A complete and utter mess. And it’s making my skin itch just looking at you. So take a shower while you’re at it. I’ll be downstairs. I think I saw a couch and I don’t need signal to play solitaire.” With that, you pushed past him, leaving Sans in the bathroom by himself, staring after you. He didn’t protest. Didn’t raise a word or argument or mockery. Just a faint “sure boss” before the door clicked shut and the pipes groaned.

It wasn’t until you were curled on the couch with your phone illuminating the mostly barren room that you let yourself breathe.

Let yourself think.

And laid a hand over your rapidly beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of my readers should see a nod to their lovely comments from last chapter. I read each and every one. ^_-
> 
> Anyway! My question this time is "What color soul do you think Reader has and why?"
> 
> Thank you all for your support. Seeing all the comments and kudos and bookmarks is a treat for any author. And until next time, enjoy~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped to M for introduction of mature themes, including some dubious sub/dom.

It was cold. The couch was lumpy in all the wrong ways. And you refused to even lay aside your laptop bag or slip off your shoes to get more comfortable. There was a damp, musty smell that was neither mildew or mold, like a leaky attic filled with dust-covered memories. You stared at your smartphone, eyeing the battery life with both relief and concern. It was mostly full for now. And while you have a charger, you weren’t exactly sure where any outlets were, and didn’t feel like searching right this instant. Not with the groan of pipes splitting the otherwise stagnant silence, the only other sound your breathing and heartbeat. Dislike quiet, you turned the volume up on your phone, finding a minor balm in the feedback noises with every tap. Solitaire gave too much time to think, so you switched to a noisier, more colorful puzzle game that soothed the senses with celebratory explosions. 

One could say it was foolish to huddle in a ball on the couch instead of looking for an escape or a weapon. But you would argue it was wiser to stay right where you were. Braving the frigid Underground in hopes of reaching its end unnoticed would be a trial, one that, at the end, would leave you at the top of Mt. Ebott with no supplies. And what good was a weapon? Sans had the whole teleporting ticket, so killing him would be stupid, and trying in the first place sounded like a good way to be tied up and kept in a closet like Papyrus so casually suggested. And...well, the idea of killing someone in a premeditated manner, even Sans, sat wrong in your chest. 

So you stayed. Waiting. Listening but trying not to listen. When the pipes stopped rattling, giving a final heave and shudder before trickling into white noise, you dared peek up from your screen. It was five long, excruciating minutes later that the stairs creaked and a certain someone crept down them, shoulders hunched over, as if he was loathe to make a noise. You shined the phone's flashlight at him, pinning Sans with the brilliant glare, and he didn't even flinch. Instead he paused on the final step, looking terribly small without his jacket. The maroon sweater he wore was bulky and ill-fitted, creating an illusion of mass across his shoulders and ribs, while bunching tellingly in the hollow between hips and spine. That collar remained around his neck, leather dark, metal spikes gleaming, like he gave it a good scrub. And he abandoned the sneakers for mustard-colored socks. 

"h-hey boss," he greeted, again nervous, almost shy, the image hard to mesh with the other sides you'd seen. You knew he had a temper, and if he was impassioned enough, that stutter melted away. Papyrus described him as neither meek nor timid, yet here he was, shuffling his feet like a chastised toddler. 

"Where's your coat?"

Sans pawed for a nonexistent hood, "yer t-told me to take it off. d-didn't think yer wanted me come down wearin' it." 

"Not what I asked, bone boy," you swallowed, hoping the flash hid your uneasy expression. 

"er, s-sorry, it's upstairs hangin' in the shower...i cleaned it best i could and left it to dry."

Tension fell thick and suffocating between you. You'd agreed to act on your whims in hopes of placating this monster. Just get through it. Once you were on the Surface again, you could take him up on his deal, and if he had a lick of honor, he’d leave you alone. If he didn’t...well, you weren’t going to be a doormat. You’d figure something out. Daddy didn’t raise you to let some skeleton treat you like property.

“b-b-boss?”

You clicked off the flashlight. No point in wasting your phone’s battery more than necessary. “Those your only clothes?”

“y-yes?”

“So you put on dirty clothes after I told you to clean up?”

He fell silent, nodding, hands fumbling with the ratty fabric of his athletic shorts. You swallowed, still not quite sure how to handle this. Feeling weird. Feeling...wrong? This was a twisted situation. One you didn’t want to be in (didn’t want to want to be in). Sans descended the last step and inched closer, “i didn’t mean to break the rules, b-but i don’t have anything here no more. d-did my best.”

“No more? You used to live here, I assume?” He nodded. You drew in a breath, uncertain of where to go from here. You must have been silent, staring off at the staircase beyond his shoulder, for a little too long, because Sans was suddenly closer. Too close. Right at the edge of the couch, smelling faintly of coffee and the sour tang of stagnant water. “Okay, personal space...er...you. Ten steps back.” He didn’t move. “I...I said, ten steps back.” Your voice wavered and cracked. Shit. This was where you died, wasn’t it? “D-do I have to m-make you?”

Apparently that was the key phrase, because he shifted back a little. Just three steps. He wasn’t meeting your eyes, and again, there was a twist in your chest. Frick. Was the stress giving you a heart arrhythmia? That sensation couldn’t be good...Your absent-minded touching elicited a cough from Sans. 

“it’s yer soul.”

“You keep saying that, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s a cop out excuse.”

Sans laid a boney palm over his sternum, “that feelin’. like there’s a fish tryin’ to thrash outta yer chest, it’s yer soul reachin’ fer mine. to cleave to its other half and all that romantic shit. bet the feelin’ get’s worse when yer stop yerself from doin’ something or second guess yerself, yeah? no point in lyin’, so if yer want the sensation to stop, yer gotta listen to what yer core self wants. it’s yer gut. yer instincts.”

“Huh, not a lick of a stutter.”

“eh?”

“Well right now my instincts say you’re still too damn close. So back. Off.”

That nervous look was replaced with an almost wicked mischief for a blink. So fast and subtle that if you weren’t staring him you’d have missed it. “what happened to makin’ me?” he sassed. 

“...Do you get off on people dumping coffee on your head, because that’s what happened the last time you asked.” Okay, that slipped out a little more venomous than intended. 

He had the audacity to shiver. Yep. Called it. You weren’t sure what kink you’d picked up on, but you weren’t blind to his reaction. And it cheesed you off more than anything. Who was he to get all heart-eyed and (bleh) aroused by this fucked up situation he put you both in? Asshole. Absolute asshole. In the back of your mind, the phrase “safeword is blue” echoed like a premonition. Fine. Just...fine. He wanted you to act on instincts, or whatever? On whims? 

“Freak.”

Sans flinched.

“Sick little creep.”

He could stop you with a single word.

“You liked it when I dumped my drink on you. And I wasn’t seeing things when you made heart eyes at me when you were kneeling on the dirty cement. The fact that anyone could see you for the pathetic monster that you just made it all the better.”

“n-no…”

“Oh stop playing stupid and don’t lie.”

“s-sorry b-boss.”

Swallowing, you slipped the laptop bag off and sat up straight on the couch, feet planted firmly on the ground. You were angry. You were in a helpless, dubious situation. And you weren’t sure if it was gratifying or humiliating to speak like this. Like you were...powerful? 

“I don’t think you are. Or you wouldn't be disobeying me, you pathetic dog.”

Did you sound confident or out of depth? You could imagine any normal person laughing you out of the room for saying such a thing to their face. A pipsqueak with all the physical strength of a cooked noodle in a rainstorm, and the presence of a wet paper bag stuck to an alley wall. But Sans, there was only one way to describe his expression: enamored. Like you were divinity walking. Precious and perfect and petty. Like he was dirt that gloried in being stepped upon, consecrated by this mortal god on a warpath. 

For a heart-skipping second, you reveled in it, lost in the illusion, caught up in the fantasy. It would be terribly easy to test the limits of his willing subjugation, to take what you wanted and leave behind the rest. But...you weren’t the one-off sort. Flings never a flavor you cared to taste. And even if it were your thing, according to Sans, you risked permanence by pursuing instead of fleeing. 

Your hand trembled as you closed the distance and curled your fingers around his collar.

“Do you know what some humans do to disobedient dogs? They choke them with a chain.” Sans shivered, leaning into your pull. “They muzzle them. Shock them. Starve them. Force them to heel then kick them. If they’re careless or especially cruel, they might even end up killing them.” Your grip tightened, twisting the leather so that it would press against bone. If he had flesh, there would be the risk of cutting skin. “Some dogs have the sense to fight back. Bite. Growl. Struggle. Others just lay there and take it because they’re convinced they deserve the abuse, that their master will love them more if they learned to flinch every time a hand is raised.”

“do it. punish me.”

“No.”

You released his collar and shoved him back, walking past him as if he didn’t have a mouth full of razors and the ability to grab you by the Soul. Sans sputtered and you heard a low thump, the sound of knees hitting carpet. “yer want to do it. i want yer to do it to me. fuckin’ hit me, bitch!” You whirled on him, that flutter in your chest now a burn. You weren’t a violent person. You just weren’t! Violence wasn’t the solution to life’s problems, but in that moment, when you could choose between Mercy and a Fight, your conscious stuttered, leaving you caught between outrage and dismissal. 

“Say please,” you snarked, balling your fists at your sides. 

Sans let out a tremulous breath as you turned, facing him again, his skull beaded with sweat, every inch of him shivering with what you could only name desperation. You hesitated to call this exchange sexual, even for him, because for all the way he’d been heart-eyed, there was a manic edge to it all. Like he would do anything to win this kind of favor from you. (Would he go as far as Papyrus implied?) “...please.” He laid his palms on the floor. “please. angel above, please punish me, boss.”

“Why should I do a thing you want?” The words came out louder than intended, unexpected tears burning hot along the corners of your eyes. “Why should I give a shit about what you want and what you need, you selfish, inconsiderate bastard? Why should I care if you Dust?” Your breathing turned heavy, anger and spite and stupid lust all intermingling. You were getting off on this. Yelling at him. You bet you would feel exalted if you gave in and hit him. “You don’t give a shit about what I want. I wanted to be left alone. Yet here we are. You can’t even follow a simple order and then you insult me when you don’t get what you want. Tell me. Why. Should. I. Bother?”

“i...i…b-b-boss…”

(Safe word is blue)

“Shut up!”

He fell silent.

(You could end this. You should end this. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t healthy.)

“You’re less than a dog. Act like it.”

It was too easy to reach out and cup the side of his skull, to push his unresisting form to the floor. He sprawled gracelessly on his side, sockets wide, body curled as if he expected you to grind your heel into his ribs. You wanted him to stop looking at you! You wanted that stupid, vulnerable expression to go away! You could just pin him down and kiss—fuck. No. No. NO!

“BLUE!”

Sans was on his feet in an instant, as if he hadn’t just been cowering in the wake of your fury. You covered your mouth, but were unable to smother the urge to gulp down air. Were you hyperventilating? Oh god, you were shaking. “shit. shit. shit. hang on sweetheart, it’ll be okay. you’re okay. hey. easy. breathe wit me. c’mon.” That wasn’t happening. “can i touch yer? please, i just wanna help yer to the couch.” Despite your better judgement, you nodded. Sans nudged you to the sofa and soon (seconds, minutes, hours?) he was laying a sheet over you. Rough but worn, and cool against your skin. “do yer need anythin’? water? somethin’ to eat?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“water then.” He rummaged in a pocket and withdrew a plastic water bottle and a candy bar. Sans unscrewed the cap and held it to your lips, “drink.”

It took a while before you regained your breath enough to take a sip, and Sans kept the bottle raised until you managed to swallow down half of it. He then unwrapped the chocolate and broke off a piece, “think yer can eat?”

“What are you doing?”

“takin’ care of my mate, o’course.”

“You’re not…”

“details. we’re soulmates. angel knows i’ve fucked up enough wit yer.”

“I told you I didn’t care if you dust. I choked you. I almost hit you. I wanted to kick in your ribs.”

“i asked yer to, sweetheart. coulda stopped yer at any moment.”

“I can’t do this, Sans. I...I can’t…I’m not that kind of person.” He didn’t respond, simply pressed the candy to your lips until you chewed it. A few bites later and he let you sit up. “I want to go home.”

“...soon...can’t ‘port yet. swear i aint lying.” His voice was hollow, his shoulders slumped. Defeated. “m’sorry.” Silence fell thick between you. It should be gratifying. For once he looked properly guilty for his actions. Soon you would be back above and he’d disappear from your life forever. Sure, you’d need to find a new coffee shop and lay low for a while in case his brother decided to go psycho murderer on you, but, hey, what’s life without a little near death experience now and then? But as the minutes ticked by, the sensation in your chest grew worse. Heavy. 

“Were you really okay with all of that?”

“yes.” Not a blink of hesitation.

You curled into a tighter ball, catching your lower lip between your teeth, “Why?”

“just do. heh. think you’re messed up? you’re practically vanilla. what’s a little degradation and slapping around? i’d let you do more. so much more.” Sans sat down on the arm of the sofa, keeping his distance. “you could break open my ribs and crush my soul in your bare hands and i’d let you.”

“That’s morbid.”

He tapped the side of his skull, “that’s puttin’ it lightly. but you’re damn beautiful on a power trip. and yer soul is so bright when you give into it.”

With a long, shaky exhale, you dare to unfurl, the sheet slipping to your lap, “Sans. Be honest, what will happen when you take me back up Above?”

“assumin’ yer tell me to piss off fer the rest of eternity?” He shrugged. “i find a nice hole to crawl in.”

“...I don’t want you dead.”

“that’s a sweet sentiment.”

“I’m serious. Look, sure, this didn’t work out, but—”

Sans laughed, “hey, i’m not fond of the prospect of keelin’ over, but you’ve made your point.”

“If you just hadn’t…”

“hadn’t what?”

“I don’t even know anymore. Maybe if you had bought me a coffee like a normal person instead of grabbing my ass, we could have, maybe, eventually, worked something out.”

“bought yer a coffee? would i have written my number on a napkin after we had a nice chat?”

“No, you would have written it after you made a complete idiot of yourself and I stormed off, probably.”

“but yer woulda called?”

“...probably not.”

“let’s say yer did.”

“Fine, I texted you. We got talking.”

“we agreed to meet fer more coffee. mouthed off and yer dumped yer drink on me.”

“And I forgave you for whatever bullshit you spewed?”

“nah. yer stayed pissed. but when i came to apologize, yer pushed me against the side of yer car.”

“Let me guess, it was hot and we made out?”

“damn, readin’ my mind?”

“Wouldn’t happen like that.”

“whatever. we’d fight and shit, and you’d probably break down cryin’ bout how yer wanna bounce me off a wall. we’d make up, ‘course, have a heart-to-heart ‘bout souls...yer’d get all shy on me...i’d...ask yer on a date. it’d be awkward as fuck at first, but, yer’d eventually take what yer wanted.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’d be more than happy at that point to make any of my fantasies come true?”

“shit, i’d do that now if yer’d let me.”

“...Sans.”

“hm?”

“That can’t happen.”

“yeah, i know.”

You sighed and hesitantly brushed a hand against his skull, “Saturday.”

“huh?”

“Give me until Saturday to think about things. I’ll talk to your brother—don't try to interfere—get my thoughts in order, do some research, and then I’ll make a decision.”

“do yer mean that?”

“You haven’t been forgiven, but yes.” You didn’t like to consider the implications of that weight on your chest lifting. Sans didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you found that you didn’t hate him. You didn’t want him dead. And that sick, warped piece of you that reveled in his submission, practically cooed its approval. “If anything happens at all, it will be on my terms. I’m pretty sure there are rules and guidelines to this sort of thing.” You ignored the face he pulled at the word ‘rules’. “Now, once you recover your magic, you will take me back above and I won’t see a single hint of you until Saturday. Understood?”

Sans’ smile turned crooked, “got it boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. So that happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
